Bridge of Death
by IronForce
Summary: Deep in the South, Casey Lynch makes an unexpected find in a pawn shop. It, combined with some whiskey, leads her to an encounter that's not easily explained rationally.
1. Chapter 1

_**Author's note: This is just a silly little humor / horror story with some Guitar Hero gameplay elements thrown in. Inspired by the Manowar song with the same name, and some injuries that inevitably happen when dealing with guitars.**_

 _ **\- IronForce**_

* * *

There was an air of mystery around the Deep South that Casey Lynch found intriguing. And perhaps just a bit frightening. It was here the blues legend Robert Johnson had allegedly sold his soul to the Devil. And without blues, there wouldn't have been heavy metal either.

From the tour van she had seen the famous Clarksdale crossroads sign. And now she was exploring the city on foot.

Casey liked pawn shops; one could make surprising finds inside, like rare effects pedals. Though she would still usually discard them after using them on a gig or two, and return to just plugging the guitar directly to her trusted Marshall rig.

Crazy Eddie's, the sign above the door said, and Casey headed inside the gloomy-looking little store. A bell rung as the door opened, but the shopkeeper seemed to pay little attention to her.

The musical instruments were in the back. There was a worn Stratocaster Casey noticed immediately, which could have had some interesting story to tell, but right now she was not looking for another guitar. She had enough, and the tour van certainly could not fit any more inside.

But there were accessories, effects pedals, and some parts too.

One thing in particular caught Casey's eye. A Floyd Rose tremolo bridge, curiously discolored. There were brownish-red spots on it. But the metal still appeared to be solid, it had not rusted through.

This reminded her that her current main guitar, a Jackson Soloist SL1, really needed something to be done on it. She had bought it used, and it was possibly the bridge at fault. The notes did not ring out as long as they should have. This one appeared to have the same dimensions as the original bridge, and would fit right in as a replacement.

She picked up the bridge from the shelf, and thought she felt something. Like an electric current passing through her hand? Possibly it was just static. And she had a tendency of being a bit electric.

Casey headed to the counter.

"What can you tell me of this one?" she asked.

The shopkeeper eyed the tremolo bridge for a few seconds and answered in a deep drawl. "One fella dropped it here some weeks ago. Said he wanted nothing more to do with it."

"How much?"

"Fifty bucks."

For just a moment Casey considered. Should she back out? The odd sensation she had felt, and then this explanation, which could be interpreted as ominous. But the bridge was much cheaper than a new one, and who knew, maybe the discolored surface would also color the sound in a pleasing way. After all, she was always searching for ways to expand her sound.

* * *

Casey returned to the tour van on the motel's parking lot. The next show would only be tomorrow, and the others were still out exploring the city as well. It would be a perfect moment to try swapping out the bridge right now. Though, to be honest, it had been irresponsible to leave the van unguarded, with all the gear inside. But thankfully it appeared undisturbed.

Casey got the Soloist out from its case, and the necessary tools. As well as a bottle of Jack Daniels to help with the installation. She poured herself a drink, took the initial sip, loosened the strings, then opened the back plate to detach the springs from the original bridge, and finally took it off.

Another sip of the whiskey, and she began putting the pawn shop bridge in. Indeed, it was a perfect fit. It did not take long to have the tremolo springs back and the strings tuned to approximately the right pitch.

Casey strummed the strings a few times. The sound appeared stronger and clearer, and it took longer for the notes to fade out. The effect was more pronounced than she could have expected. Either this bridge was something special, or the original had been truly rotten, diminishing the guitar's worth. But now she needed to plug the guitar in to her battery-powered practice amp, and test the difference properly.

She also needed more of the whiskey.

Amplified, the guitar sounded even better. Casey unleashed a flurry of notes, bending the last one and letting it ring. This was what the SL1 had been crying out for. With its original bridge, it had been just crippled. Now it would certainly be elevated to permanent main guitar status, no questions asked.

She began playing a fast eighth-note rhythm part. That sounded good too, even through the slightly lackluster practice amp: the attack was strong and percussive.

Suddenly Casey felt a sting in her right hand middle finger. One of the strings had made a cut on it as it recoiled from the strum, drawing blood.

A drop of blood fell from her finger on the bridge, and she felt nauseous, like the tour van was spinning. It seemed badly out of place. She would not react like that to a tiny injury –

Then she felt the reality around her vanish and fade into black.


	2. Chapter 2

Casey still had the guitar with her. But it was black all around. Total darkness. Or – actually not completely. A red glow was coming from below, gaining intensity slowly and turning yellow. She found herself to be standing on some large, flat stones, and the glow was coming from the cracks in between.

Ahead of her, Casey saw a towering shape. It did not take much imagination to recognize it.

It was the Devil himself.

The Devil spoke with a slow, deep resounding voice.

"My dear Casey. Don't be afraid. You have made a good choice. That bridge is special. It will guarantee you a unique sound and a lifetime of success, as long as you play with it and no other. You may of course swap it to any other guitar as you wish."

Casey could not be sure if this was real or dreaming. But usually, her dreams were not this coherent.

"A lifetime? And after that?"

The Devil laughed.

"I think you know the answer. But to make it obvious, eventually I collect what is mine."

Casey felt her blood run cold. This was certainly not what she wanted. She had been conned big time by the bridge's previous owner. She wondered whether he was already rotting in Hell. As apparently it was real, and she was already making a short visit.

What she was about to say next was likely unwise, but it wasn't as if things could turn much worse.

"What if I say instead, fuck you?"

The Devil laughed again, shorter this time.

"Your soul is already bound to the bridge irrevocably. It will not change anything, except amuse me."

Frozen in place, Casey felt like she was running out of options. But the mistake had already been made when she walked out of that shop with the cursed bridge.

Then she thought of just running away. At least her legs still had motion.

The Devil's laughter echoed behind her.

"There's nowhere to run to!"

* * *

Casey almost stumbled in the darkness as she ran. The rocks seemed to extend as far as she could see. At least there was no lake of fire to fall into.

She cursed. Ahead of her, like from out of a black fog, the glow intensified more, until she understood she would be arriving on a shoreline.

A few seconds more, and there was no question. A lake of lava, over which –

There was a huge bridge? Casey couldn't tell what it had been built of. Shiny black stone or marble, possibly? And divided into five lanes, whose purpose she could not tell either.

What if the bridge was the way out? Possibly things could not get any worse from stepping on it and trying.

Already short of breath, Casey reached the beginning of the bridge. Below, the lava was swirling in a slow, eerie motion. It certainly did not pay to slip. But she was not about to slow down either. Somewhere behind her, the Devil laughed one more time, and the sound was distorted, going up and down in pitch, like fed through several effect pedals.

It did not take long for something to begin coming at her from the far end of the bridge. Fast.

And it made no sense. They were colored circles, one color on each lane. Green – red – yellow – blue – orange.

Casey tried to dodge, but was knocked off her feet by a collision with one of the circles. She hit her jaw against the bridge.

It hurt. Just like in reality. The guitar also hit the floor nastily, ringing out uncontrollably.

There were two more of the circles coming at her, but suddenly they vanished in flames.

And Casey understood: the circles represented notes. She would have to play correctly to get through the bridge and escape this place.

She fished for a pick from the pocket of her leather pants. Thankfully it was still there.

A formation of three circles was coming up next. Certainly a power chord. Casey struck it hard, and the notes began to ring out as if through an amplifier stack, though the guitar was unplugged. Holy shit!

The three circles lit up in flames and evaporated, and Casey got on her feet, going forward unsteadily at first, then with more confidence. More circles followed, testing her endurance and dexterity, but she soldiered on.

Finally, there was a solo part, the circles following each other in a chaotic formation. Casey had to resort to two-handed tapping. She was still making progress, but the playing took almost all of her concentration now. And it was getting worse. She had no idea how long she would have to persist to get out. If she even could.

If the Devil set all the rules in this place, the challenge could easily be impossible.

Finally the solo part turned to two-note chords, but still following each other in an insanely fast chaotic formation. How could she make it through now? By luck she managed to hit the first few chords, but then she lucked out, and the circles knocked her off her feet again, and this time their momentum carried her off the bridge into the air, to plunge into the lava below.


	3. Chapter 3

"Casey? Are you alive? Wake up if you are!"

Someone was shaking her heavily. She had just died in Hell, why couldn't she just be left alone? But the shaking did not seem to cease, so at last she had to reluctantly open her eyes.

There, close and a bit blurry, was Axel Steel's face. His breath smelled of beer, as usual.

"Stop! I'm … fine," Casey managed to blurt out at last. She understood that she had been lying on the floor of the tour van. The guitar was next to her, as well as a tipped-over glass of whiskey. Right at this moment, the odor did not feel welcome.

Casey was not sure what had exactly happened. Had it been a dream, or had she actually met the Devil? Was her soul still bound to the bridge? Well, the least she could do was to get rid of it. Immediately.

She rose up to a sitting position and turned to Axel.

"Hey. Want to do something? Help me get rid of that bridge on my guitar. We need to install the original back, then ditch the wrong one. But don't wound yourself. It might be cursed."

Axel looked puzzled. "Sure. It sounds like fun. But cursed? That doesn't sound like you at all. What exactly happened?"

"It's a weird story. You probably wouldn't believe if I told."

* * *

It was a pleasant-looking sunset as Casey and Axel drove the van to a nearby river. Judy, Johnny and Lars were getting drunk at the motel; so far they suspected nothing.

The discolored Floyd Rose bridge was wrapped in a plastic bag, and Casey tossed it down into the water. For a moment she thought even the splash was somehow distorted and prolonged. Like it was the Devil laughing at her even now. She felt a shiver of cold, but snapped back to reality.

Possibly, everything had been due to seeing her own blood, combined with being slightly drunk.

"It's done now," Casey said. "And you took it well, me being quite silly."

"No problem," Axel answered. "It was a story, alright. Saying 'fuck you' to the Devil. Did you remember to give him the finger too?"

Casey had to think for a second. "Guess I forgot that."

"Well, maybe next time. But let's head back now."

They walked back to the van. Casey felt a little off balance, and she could have corrected it, but in the end she decided not to and collided against Axel a bit.

"You did that deliberately," Axel said.

"So what if I did?"

Axel put an arm around her for a brief time. "Hey. I'm glad to have you back. Seriously."

This whole exchange was a bit silly too. But Casey didn't mind for once. Most of the time Axel was a bit of a brute, who concerned himself with just beer, skulls, motorcycles and heavy metal, but right now she could not think of anyone who would have handled this episode better.


End file.
